Panic and Pointlessness
by Trekkie101
Summary: S&S—What I hope to be a medium length story about the married life of Edward and Elinor... I may be jumping in the middle of it here, but I wanted to get something down. More to come!—S
1. Sisters Sometimes Make Sense

Disclaimer: I don't own S&S, Jane Austen, or Emma Thompson, and I would be too frightened to if I could.

A/N: This is, unfortunately, baed on the movie version of S&S. The 1995, Emma Thompson/Ang Lee version, of course. This and my other story, as well as the chapters that follow, may at some point become a longer story… we shall see :)

Panic and Pointlessness

"But Elinor, how can you be sure? There is no way to know!" Marianne sat, exasperated, on Elinor's freshly-made bed, watching with a frustrated sort of amusement as her sister bustled around the room.

"No, there is no way to know," Elinor responded as she folded her husband's trousers expertly, and shoved them away in a drawer. "But there ARE signs. Mrs. Palmer—"

"Mrs. Palmer knows nothing! My God, Elinor, how can you, Duchess of reason and sensibility, be taking mothering advice from a woman like THAT?" Marianne threw up her hands and lay back on the bed with a huff.

"Mrs. Palmer has four sisters, and has carried a child three times now. I would consider her knowledge of the practice indefinitely more sound than mine or yours!" Here, Elinor bustled out of the room to bring in her fresh laundry from the line. She hoped that her sister would be content to lie peacefully on the bed, but she had no such luck. Marianne would not let the matter lie.

"Honestly, Elinor, you can't know that you are carrying a girl!"

"If you insist on lecturing me about this subject, at least try to find it in yourself to help me take down the wash, Marianne." Elinor's voice was soft as it always was, but Marianne heard the scolding and petulantly began to gather up aprons and pins.

"I don't know why you don't just let one of your girls do this for you," Marianne sighed.

"The servants we have, do plenty of work simply keeping this place standing, Marianne. And I usually find this a most pleasant and relaxing task." Once again, Marianne felt reprimanded, as she so often did around her older sister. She opened her mouth the return to their previous topic of conversation, convinced in her correctness and hoping to have the satisfaction of finally winning an argument, but Elinor beat her to it. "And, for your information, dearest, all of the same signs occurred whilst I was carrying Belle."

"What signs? Nothing I have ever heard of to discover a baby's gender before it is born makes any sense at all scientifically."

"And what do you know of science? I thought your nose was always buried in Shakespeare or Swift." Elinor shot a grin at her sister, as they both shared a love for literature.

"I prefer Chaucer, than you very much. But I do read other things. And Christopher has a wide selection of medical texts in his library." Marianne dropped the last pile of dresses into the wicker basket, and picked up one side.

"No doubt a military man will own many writings focusing on childbirth." Marianne glared at her sister's sarcasm, then snorted.

"You have a point. What, then, has made you so positive that you are carrying another girl?" They deposited the basket less than gently on the master bed, and Elinor began hanging her dresses.

"The headaches, mostly. Mrs. Jennings investigated my symptoms early on during my time with Belle. She, uh, informed me that boys generally cause more of a…sickness." The elder blonde blushed, unaccustomed to speaking openly about a subject such as this. "And I am carrying the weight in the same way I my carried last two pregnancies."

"So that's your grand diagnosis?! Elinor, I really think you're getting yourself all worked up over nothing! It may very well—"

"So what if I am? Marianne, it is the principle. We have two girls already. What if I never have a boy?" Elinor hastily ripped another dress out of the basket but it caught on a piece of broken wicker and tore. Elinor froze, staring at the hole now wrapped around the basket piece. Then, her face crumbled and she at heavily on the bed, tears beginning to drip down her face. Marianne sighed and hurried to her sister's side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"Oh, Elinor, I do apologize. I don't mean to upset you. Quite the opposite! I was only wondering if perhaps you are rushing into this panic." The younger sister consoled the newest Mrs. Ferrars for a few moments as she sobbed, still clutching the bodice of her torn dress. "Elinor, if I may ask this… Where is this coming from? Has Edward said anything to you—"

"No!" Now, Elinor was back on her feet, freeing the dress and folding it in her arms. "No, Edward has never said anything. He loves Belle and Beth very much. He says they are his world." Marianne followed her elder sister around the room as she muddled the garment in her arms.

"So, if he has not given any indication that he is displeased with the daughters you have already given him, why such worry about another?"

"You should understand, Marianne, what happens to a family with no sons! The name, the money, the estate, it will all be given to someone else. The girls will have nothing and Edward will… well, I don't know. But I—"

"Elinor. Elinor, Elinor, Elinor." Marianne gently took the dress from her sister's hands where it had been wrinkled and balled up. Casting it aside, the younger Dashwood sister sat them gently on the bed, pushing the basket back. "Listen to yourself, Elinor. Think about this reasonably."

The older blonde began to protest, attempting to free her hands and rise again, but Marianne would have none of it.

"Listen! Mrs. Ferrars had two sons and neither one of them have any of her money now. And when has Edward cared about names and estates? He was willing to risk it all for the puppy love that was Lucy Steele, and again for you. He has not once attempted to grovel his way back into the Ferrars family graces, a fact which you, Mother, and Christopher were very proud of a little while ago."

"I know, I know." This time, Elinor succeeded in pulling away, standing and picking up the torn dress to fold it neatly.

"Edward loves you. He loves you, and Isabelle, and Elizabeth, as he will love this baby." At this, the sisters heard hooves outside the house and the ring of delighted giggling. Elinor startled and began furiously wiping at her cheeks, attempting, with little success, to eliminate any trace of her tears.

"Oh dear they're home early and I haven't finished. Marianne, be a dear and run this to the sewing room. There is a basket of clothes needing mending."

"Of course." This time, Marianne took the dress and left without complaint, hoping that Edward would notice his wife's distress and convince her to explain it. The younger Dashwood knew, without a doubt, that Elinor's fears would not be allayed easily, and that Edward was the only person with any chance of success. With the dress settled into its basket, Marianne headed for the entranceway, hoping to see her nieces before they ran for lunch. Perhaps if she hurried…


	2. Gorgeous, Giggling Girls

Disclaimer: I don't own S&S, Jane Austen, or Emma Thompson, and I would be too frightened to if I could.

A/N: This is, unfortunately, baed on the movie version of S&S. The 1995, Emma Thompson/Ang Lee version, of course.

Chapter 2

"Aunt Mary! Aunt Mary!" Marianne's grin spread across her face as she bent down to catch the two excited girls. Elizabeth catapulted into her arms, her chubby baby hands reaching wildly for ringlets of hair, while Belle wrapped her whole body around Marianne's calves. She laughed with their giggles, their sweetness bringing immediate joy to her worried countenance. Unable to travel any further down the hall, Marianne greeted her sister's husband from a distance.

"How are you, Edward?" The gentleman nodded, grinning as he made is way towards them with one arm wrapped around Elinor's expanding waist.

"Extremely well. And you, Mrs. Brandon?" Edward always took it upon himself to call her that, since he and Elinor had been privy to their romance and engagement and now lived on their property. He swooped in to capture Beth and hoist her in the air, grabbing Marianne's hand for a kiss on the way by. Beth shrieked and laughed again as he cackled and swung her around.

"I am well, thank you," Marianne replied, crouching to greet her older niece with a proper hug. "I am always well when I come to see my nieces." Belle giggled in pleasure at hearing that her Aunt enjoyed visiting. Isabelle, who was eagerly awaiting the arrival of her fourth birthday, had the beginnings of her mother's temperament—an easy laugh with a serious countenance, and an intense desire to please the world.

"Then your visit has nothing to do with my lovely wife, or the end of your intolerably long trip to London," Edward commented, teasing Marianne and Elinor simultaneously about their need to visit one another when the Brandons' trip had only lasted eleven days.

"Of course not," Marianne shot back. "I was worried that, in my absence, my girls might have grown up and I might have missed my opportunity to turn them in to hopeless romantics!" Elinor snorted at this, catching Beth as she catapulted out of her father's arms. Beth was barely two years old, a mischief-maker with a musical laughter that charmed everyone. The two girls were beautiful, and had both their father and Uncle Brandon wrapped tightly around their fingers.

"I hope you have," Elinor shot back. Her voice was teasing, and purposefully cheerful as she ushered her family out of the entryway and into the parlor. Her tone, however, was tinged with worry. Edward's questioning gaze caught Marianne's as they settled into chairs around the fire, and she returned it, hoping to convey her serious concern.

"Well, I certainly must make up for lost time than, Elinor. And since Christopher is in London these few days, I shall take it upon myself to stay for dinner." Belle squealed in delight, jumping off of the loveseat and twirling in delight.

"Can we ride the horses, Aunt Mary? You can play with my dolls! Daddy bought me a new one and it has green eyes and blonde hair but not like my first doll with brown eyes and blonde hair because her hair is in braids and my new doll has curls. Beth has a new doll as well but hers is soft instead of porling… parceling?"

"Porcelain, love," Elinor offered quietly.

"Yes! Porslin!" Belle was tugging on Marianne's hand, rocking on the little heels of her black shoes in delight. Beth, feeling left out, began to squirm in Elinor's lap, clapping her tiny hands together.

"We have been replaced, it seems," Edward commented to his wife, standing. "Perhaps we should leave these monkeys with your sister and take a walk." Elinor looked reluctant. "It will certainly dissuade her from remaining long enough to encourage the romantic sensibilities she champions." Marianne huffed in mock hurt, and Elinor cracked a smile.

"Indeed, you provide enough of that encouragement yourself," the older sister commented to her husband. He grinned and, pulling on her hands, succeeded in lifting her out of the chair and propelling her into his arms.

"I cannot help it, my love. I have the most beautiful woman in the world as my wife and I cannot ask for anything more. Why shouldn't I be a romantic?" His words were meant to tease and incite the giggle he loved so much. Unknowingly, however, his words had opened the Pandora's jar of doubts in Elinor's mind as it supplied a hundred things he deserved to ask for but could not get from her. She pulled her hands from his and, not looking at him, nodded.

"A walk will be pleasant. Are you sure you will be fine, Marianne?" The young woman in question was holding the youngest Ferrars on her lap, while Belle stood on the chair behind her and leaned over her shoulder.

"Of course! My darling nieces shall take good care of me."

"There, it is settled, then." Edward kissed both of his daughters, and Marianne's hand, then waited at the door for Elinor to repeat the process. When she had kissed her sister's cheek an whispered her thanks, he followed his wife out the door.

Marianne watched them go with hope in her eyes. Edward knew that something was wrong, and he would get Elinor to talk about it, Marianne was certain…


	3. Encouraging Embraces

Disclaimer: I don't own S&S, Jane Austen, or Emma Thompson, and I would be too frightened to if I could.

A/N: This is, unfortunately, based on the movie version of S&S. The 1995, Emma Thompson/Ang Lee version, of course.

Chapter 3

Elinor and Edward fell into step easily, her arm curled around his waist and his around her shoulders. Their feet carried them, without much thought, down a gently sloping path to a stone bridge, overlooking the creek that fed the horses' pond on the northern end of Delaford. Just past the bridge, Edward guided them left towards a copse of trees which shielded a well lit clearing.

Their walk was not tense, though Elinor's mind was spinning with doubts; he pressed a kiss to the side of her head and she smiled briefly. She sighed inwardly when she recognized the direction he was taking their stroll, knowing that this particular place on the Delaford estate was her husband's favorite spot to think. He spent a lot of time in the clearing devising sermons, and had brought her occasionally when a parishioner's troubles became difficult for him to respond to and he wanted to bounce ideas off of her. If he was headed to the clearing now, he had something on his mind.

She sat on the grass with some difficulty, leaning on his arms for support. Her limited mobility during pregnancy rarely frustrated her, but in addition to her current self-consciousness, it was almost unbearable. Settling deeply into the lush grass, she watched he husband pace before her and wished that she had the freedom to join him in his anxiety.

"My love," he began suddenly, tearing Elinor's gaze away from the circle of clear, blue sky above their heads. His voice trailed off quickly, however, and he resumed his pacing with more ferocity, before pausing again. "Darling, I…"

Elinor swallowed thickly, praying that she could keep the tears at bay. She had cried enough for a hundred women, and was sick of the emotions which so seldom broke free of her tight reins of control. She felt sure that Edward had to be feeling the same worry that consumed her waking thoughts, certain that he understood how imperative a son was for their comfortable yet poor family. She was so lost in her own assumptions that she failed to notice when Edward finally sat beside her in the grass, and only looked up to meet his gaze when he cradled her hands in his own.

"Elinor, I love you. And I am," here, he broke off again, looking quite distressed. "I am very worried. About you." This was not what Elinor was expecting, and the surprise must have registered on her face. "I do not wish to pry, my love, but a husband must ask… Are you quite well?"

"Well?" Elinor's voice was thick and rough with the effort it took to keep her feelings at bay. She was confused; surely, he meant to inquire as to the suspected gender of their third child, or perhaps the reason behind Marianne's frantic visit to their corner of the estate.

"What I mean to say is, are you in good health? I know you have spoken to Mrs. Palmer recently, and your sleep during the past weeks has been fitful at best. Are you in any danger? This child, is it not safe?"

And then it was simply too much for Elinor to maintain her façade of strength around her husband's sincerity any longer. Large tears began to course gracefully down her reddening cheeks, and she tore a hand away from her husband's grasp to cover her face in embarrassment. Her sobs were quiet, with none of the passion she had possessed on the fateful day of their engagement, but they shook her lanky body ferociously.

Edward was immediately alarmed. Fearing the worse, and caring little for propriety, he scrambled closer to his wife, pulling her to sit between his legs so that she leaned sideways against his broad chest, and pressed the side of her face into his lapel. His arms encircled her waist, which had grown with their child, and her shoulders, warming her and gentling her cries until she was calm enough to speak. She spoke before the tears ceased, gulping at the air and clutching him to her as if he could vanish into the breeze as easily as her breath.

"Why do you love me?" There were several questions before this one, which were muffled and garbled by sniffles, but this one struck him deeply and tightened his arms around her. "I couldn't give you what you needed," sob, "before we married, and I can give you even less now." Her tears were soaking through his light cotton shirt but her hardly noticed. "It is another girl, Edward." She buried her face more deeply in his chest. "Another girl who will have nothing and give you nothing and my body fails me again. I am so sorry. God, believe me, I am sorry."

For a few more moments, Edward could not find the words to respond to his wife's declarations, and she continued to apologize through her tears. Realizing, however, that he needed to quickly set aside his own verbal insecurities lest his wife make herself entirely sick, he gently loosened his embrace and slid his large hands up her arms to cup her face. HE gently shushed her, pressing chaste kisses to her eyelids and forehead, and soothing her chapped cheeks with his thumbs. He spoke softly to her, encouraging her to breathe and relax, and repeating that he loved her. That much he knew for certain, as it had been true since their first meeting at Nordham, and he relied on the simple truth of it as he searched himself for the words to ease her fears.

"Elinor," he began slowly and quietly, as if speaking to a skittish colt, "I am so relieved to know that you are safe and that our child is well protected within you. There is no greater fear for me in this life, than that some harm could come to you or our beautiful children. No, hush, love." At his assurances, fresh tears had begun to leak from her swollen eyes. "Shh, my love. I would rather speak in a London cathedral than face the possibility that you could be in danger."

"I am," she choked out, desperate to assure him. "I am not in danger." This glimpse of his usual Elinor made Edward smile despite the fact that her eyes were still filled with terror.

"Sweetheart, I did not realize that you desired a son as deeply as it seems you do. Surely, you must understand that I care more for your happiness, and the happiness of our three," he emphasized, "beautiful daughters, than for any rank or social position that might come from our having a son." Elinor shook her head and reached up to clasp his hands in hers.

"Edward, I know what it is to grow up in a family which has no sons. I know what it is to watch daughters lose all hope in being allowed to love as they are blessed by God when a father's death leaves them with nothing. You deserve to have a son. I want to give you a son, with your name who will learn to be a gentleman, and to ride horses with his sisters so that they can pamper him and he can protect them." Her lengthy confession surprised both of them, as neither were generally prone to talking about themselves easily, but Edward recognized the genuine truth in what she had said.

"I won't pretend that our daughters will be guaranteed a future as beautiful as ours, my love. Neither of us are that naïve. But you must remember that you and Marianne certainly found love despite your brother's incompetence." Elinor smiled at Edward's jab at her half brother; it was definitely justified but also unlike him. "I love you, Elinor. I know that I do not always express myself in the ways that I should, but I do love you."

"As I love you, my husband," Elinor responded, her eyes the clearest they had been in several weeks.

"If you want to have a son, we will have as many daughters as God sees fit to give us until we have a son, Elinor. I would give you half the world if I could. But it matter little to me if Belle, Beth, and this child are the only Ferrars welcomed at Delaford." For a few moments, Elinor simply sat within the protective circle of her husband's limbs, allowing his words to seep through the doubts that had been festering in her mind. When Edward leaned forward and pressed a sweet kiss to her lips, she allowed herself to relax into his embrace fully, and returned his kiss more deeply. She would have a girl, and he would choose another name which was graceful and gave him a nickname to go with Belle's and Beth's. They would continue to teach their girls to love as deeply as they could, and to ride horses while keeping their petticoats clean. And, someday perhaps, they would have a son.

**A/n: Don't worry, this is not the end of this! I promise that there will be more chapters, although the update will most likely take just as long as this one. College does that to a girl. :D MANY thanks to NMKK for his/her/per ff. net PM encouraging me to continue this story, and to all of the fabulous authors who have left reviews/added me to their update lists. Your words of support and your love keep me going! **


	4. A Shadowed Surprise

Disclaimer: I don't own S&S, Jane Austen, or Emma Thompson, and I would be too frightened to if I could.

A/N: This is, unfortunately, based on the movie version of S&S. The 1995, Emma Thompson/Ang Lee version, of course.

Chapter 4

Though she knew her husband would chastise her later, Marianne chose to walk home from the parish house, allowing the short meander through fading gardens to ease the tumult of her spirit. When Elinor and Edward had returned from their walk, Marianne could tell that Edward had succeeded in easing her sister's fears as he had so often before. She had never known a couple more suited to one another in the whole of England; for so long, Marianne had found her sister's punctilious and reserved manner practically unbearable, but Edward found it calming and adorable.

When Elinor had become a mother, to the absolute delight of Mrs. Dashwood, Marianne quickly realized how much of a burden of love her elder sister had carried for so long. Elinor was a phenomenal mother. Her gentleness, which had prodded and encouraged her two younger siblings through childhood and into adulthood, provided her girls with a home filled with safety and love, while her husband's spirit gave them room to play. Her indomitable patience, which Marianne recognized had both protected and provided for both she and Margaret for many years, was carefully teaching her beautiful children both to enjoy adventure and to remain sensible. The middle Dashwood child simultaneously regretted that she had never expressed her appreciation for her sister and looked up to the blonde as her role model. Marianne wasn't convinced she would ever be as good a mother, but prayed sincerely that her children would never make the mistakes she had.

Not that she really regretted any of her life. It was certainly true, after all, that her mistakes had led her to the life she currently lived. They had taught her, through heartbreak, sickness, and a terrifying brush with death, to love and be loved as thoroughly as she had always dreamed, without the added drama of a Shakespearean tragedy. And love, she certainly did.

A slow, brilliant smile spread across the young woman's face when she thought of her husband. It was the kind of a smile which others rarely experienced, saved solely for the man whose home she now cared for and whose spirit she now cherished. Christopher Brandon had proven to be the best of husbands; he was both protective and gentle, but honored her independence and appreciated her fire. Marianne thought instantly of London, where they had recently stayed for eleven days. For much of their stay, Brandon had been swept into business meetings and various visits to his former military comrades. The morning of their Saturday in London, however, on the sixth day of necessary but mind-numbingly boring calls to friends such as Mrs. Palmer, Marianne had put her foot down. They were going to enjoy at least one day in London, since her first trip there had been nothing but heartbreak and humiliation, and Christopher was simply going to have to acquiesce to a day exploring London on their own.

It didn't take much convincing.

Having ridden in her very first locomotive in Glasgow during their honeymoon, Marianne was eager to experience London's new network of rail travel, and hinted as much to her doting husband. As soon as breakfast had been eaten in their modest city home (that is, Christopher thought it modest while Marianne found it charming and sincerely larger than currently necessary), he had escorted her to a small carriage hitched to one of her favorite horses, a broad-shouldered mare whose deep brown coat and cream star had earned her the name Truffle. The carriage had swiftly carried them to a nearby rail station, gleaming with marble and steel, where they had waited only briefly for a monstrous black locomotive to pull up, gasping out its delightful smoke and coughing in surprise. Once settled in a quaint dining car, they had been served tea and scones, which they enjoyed as the train made its way through the alleys and sweeps of London, north towards Leicester.

Marianne remembered spending most of the ride laughing with her husband as he quietly regaled stories of his first trips aboard the locomotives which crossed the European continent during his military service. He had been especially handsome that day, the silver buttons on his black vest and charcoal frock coat glinting almost as brightly as his brown eyes. After their return trip to London, Brandon had driven them to the Royal Albert Hall where they had sat to hear a production of Twelfth Night.

"If music be the food of love, play on, play on," Marianne sang gently under her breath as she entered the rather vast mansion which she now called home. Laying a gentle hand on the arm of their butler, Jaspers, Marianne smiled her thanks and proceeded up the main staircase towards their main living quarters. The staircase was one of the features Marianne loved best about Delaford's estate house; the graceful curve of each marble step enticing her to climb, while the mahogany banisters beckoned both hers and Margaret's youthful tendencies to slide, most inappropriately, back downstairs.

Marianne found her husband where she expected to, settled into a large arm chair in his study, absorbing a large tome which she discovered, on moving to his side, contained the poetry of Percy Shelley. Not wishing to disturb his reading, Marianne was content to stand quietly beside his chair, reading over his shoulder and laying a small hand on his broad shoulders. When Brandon finished the page of text he had been so intently focused on, however, he closed the book and reached an arm out to pull his wife onto the chair with him. His actions produced the gentle laugh he desired as Marianne relented to his pull and fell lightly into his lap. She hefted the book into her arms as he maneuvered them into the corner of the armchair, supporting his back with the wing of the chair while hers found purchase between the chair back and his shoulder. The hand behind her back reached up and tangled in her copper curls, lightly brushing over the back of her head and sending delicious shivers up and down her spine. His other hand found hers and covered them in warmth as they rested on top of the closed book. Marianne closed her eyes in happiness, unable to curtail the smile which was scrawled lazily across her face.

"Mmmmmmm," the young wife hummed in contentment. "You are entirely too good for me, my husband." She felt, more than saw, Christopher smile.

"That is not possible," was his quiet and firm reply. "Darkness, weep thy holiest dew—never smiles the inconstant moon on a pair so true. Percy Shelly." Marianne's heart fluttered as Christopher's deep baritone drifted over the arch of her neck.

"We never do what we wish when we wish it, and when we desire a thing earnestly, and it does arrive, that or we are changed, so that we slide from the summit of our wishes and find ourselves where we were. Mary Shelley." Brandon grinned as his wife languidly murmured the quotation in his ear.

"Touché."

"The girls send their love. They wished to know when Uncle Brandon would come to play with the ponies again." The stalwart colonel grinned broadly at his wife's words.

"And what was your response?" Marianne giggled and Christopher knew he was in trouble.

"Tomorrow, after mass." He feigned shock, large hands settling on her waist and pushing her lightly away so that he could sit up in mock consternation.

"Tomorrow! And you've only just visited them today!" He sighed heavily and settled back into the corner of the chair, steadfastly ignoring his wife's bemused expression. "They will be spoiled silly." The ring of Marianne's laughter, her head thrown back in delight, wiped all pretense from Christopher and he grinned again.

"Of course they will. They are our nieces. We are meant to spoil them as much as possible." Lifting a small hand to her husband's cheek, Marianne leaned in to press her lips to his. Christopher's hands returned to their place on her waist, their presence large and warm around her. When they pulled away, the gentle, simmering heat in Brandon's eyes swept her away yet again. Now was the time. "Anyway," she began slowly, suddenly shy. "I'm sure they will return the favor fervently."

For a moment and a half, there was silence between them once again. Marianne's fingers played with the chain of Brandon's pocket watch as her husband processed her words. "Indeed," he began to reply, desperately attempting to keep the hint of hopefulness out of his voice. "Indeed, I believe they will when given the opportunity." Marianne returned her gaze to his, unable to keep from smiling.

"Sooner, rather than later, I think." Marianne might have said more on the subject but she suddenly found her lips occupied by Christopher's. His arms pulled her impossibly close to him, pressing hotly up the length of her back and into the wild curls at the base of her head. His kisses were hot, deep, moving over her mouth and into her soul. She was surprised to suddenly feel tears pressing against the backs of her eyes, but found Christopher's cheeks already wet with them. When her husband's mouth left hers, it pressed kisses to her face, across her eyelids and cheek bones, his breath labored with emotion.

"I cannot," he began, but his gruff voice, usually the smoothest timbre of warm brandy, broke. "I cannot express myself. I have never been happier than I am at this moment, Marianne."

"Nor have I, my husband," she replied, holding his face in her hands and feeling whole within his gaze. The shadow which loomed at the back of her mind, glaring at her with the feeling that the child she carried within her would be the son Elinor wanted so desperately, was held at bay with the force of Christopher's love for her. Later, she could fret. Now? Now was a time for celebrating.

Colonel Brandon lifted his wife from the chair, holding her as delicately as he could in arms which suddenly felt younger and stronger. His gaze never left hers as they found their way from his study to their bedroom, and her fingers wound their way into his salted curls, holding on to the man who had grounded her spirit.

"I love you," she whispered, pressing her lips against the shell of his ear.


End file.
